Childhood
Demons Rising
Demons Rising Truth be told, I’m a very honest liar, I’ll admit to stretching the truth until it damn near tears in two, yet something or someone possesses my soul when I write and like George Washington, I cannot tell a lie. It’s actually frustrating, my stories are always so tame and mellow, they could use a spicing up. And just when I think I’ve turned the corner and started to mature, an old memory will float by like a lazy cloud and catch my attention, then attack my mind like a Bald Eagle swooping down on a trout.
By Gregory Dolan Dies5 years ago in Confessions
Dry Heat
I am not a violent person but nothing would make me angrier than my dad constantly asserting that the scorching Arizona summer was “dry heat” and therefore not as bad as it could be. The lack of humidity, he would assure us, would allow our bodies to cool themselves. Bullshit. You had to think twice before touching anything in this hellish desert; accidentally grazing the metal part your car or your keys would feel like taking a tray out of the oven without gloves. Even our backyard pool, which initially excited me, was turned into a sauna from the months of May to September.
By Shawn Daring5 years ago in Confessions
A Tear in the Fabric
I was very excited that Saturday. My mom had bought me a new pair of sandals. These weren’t just any pair of sandals. These sandals had a heel. For an eleven-year-old girl, any shoe with a heel meant you were a grown up. That isn’t really true but when you’re, young unspoken rules ruled. I couldn’t wait to wear those sandals and Saturday was the day. Saturday my sisters and I had our weekly Girls Scout meeting and I was determined to be the envy of every scout in the room. I had chosen my outfit to wear with my sandals the night before. I knew how I would wear my hair. This was going to be my shining moment. I was going to be a star. Here’s what I didn’t know. The pants I had chosen were a little to tight and it wasn’t very easy to walk in heels when you have never done it before even if the heel is only an inch and a half.
By Gail Alston5 years ago in Confessions
How to Pull Over a Police Officer
Parents are supposed to be embarrassing sometimes, I know, especially when we are teenagers. But when your children feel they need to wear a paper bag over their heads in public so as not to be recognized with said parent, I think things might have gone a little too far.
By Maria Calderoni5 years ago in Confessions
Freeing the fish was a selfish act
To misquote "Ol' Blue Eyes" aka the late Frank Sinatra in the eponymous "My Way", regrets, I've had a ton. When I saw those two beautiful, stippled fish in the bucket at Uncle Laurie and Auntie Shirley's house, my heart went out to them.
By Shirley Twist5 years ago in Confessions
Stuck in a Soda Pop Bottle
When I was young, soda pop only came in bottles. One day, I thought it would be clever to show off to my siblings a trick of how I could suck my upper lip inside the bottle top of my Mr. Pibb, then let go of the bottle and stretch my arms out, holding the entire weight of that Mr. Pibb with nothing but the amazing strength of my upper lip. “Ta da!” I managed to shout with just my teeth and my lower lip. "What a marvelous accomplishment,” I gleefully thought to myself. “This will give me bragging rights over my poor, lesser-accomplished siblings!” But my bravado came to a shrieking halt when when I suddenly realized—I was stuck!
By Karla Bowen Herman5 years ago in Confessions
My Merry-go-round Fail
At recess, the boys thought it was great fun to twirl the girls faster and faster on the merry-go-round, as we held on for dear life. It was a boy's wildest dream to send a girl sailing through the air, to her demise... Of course, I was the only girl who ever forgot you should NEVER let go. I don’t 100% recall why I let go after the merry-go-round had gathered too much speed… Looking back, that was just craziness on my part!
By Karla Bowen Herman5 years ago in Confessions
Pedal Pusher Picture Day
In 3rd grade, I wore some capris to school for the very first time; they were hand-me-downs from my cousin. (Of course, back then we called them “pedal pushers”.) As fate would have it, it happened to be Picture Day, the day I wore those pedal pushers. Not understanding that I was supposed to wear them with either anklets, bobby socks, or nothing besides flip-flops; I somehow managed to leave the house without Mama noticing that I had kicked off my flip-flops and pulled up really high fuzzy brown knee socks over the bottom of my red pedal pushers, so my legs wouldn’t get cold. “What kind of mother sends me to school with such high-water trousers?” I wondered.
By Karla Bowen Herman5 years ago in Confessions
The Foulness of Baby Macbeth
To begin with, it should be stated that while most people like babies, nobody likes poop. Personally, I quite like babies; I always have. I have consistently been excited for the arrival of new life, have cooed over young children, have squealed “cute!” in the faces of human offspring who would probably have preferred a less aggressive greeting. I’m a baby person. I am not, nor have I ever been, what I guess you would call “a poop person.”
By Brynne Nelson5 years ago in Confessions
The Bathroom Terror
Like most people, I have a slew of embarrassing moments that haunt my every step, as I make my way into the world of adulthood. But, one of the most embarrassing times for me was when I was a child because unlike most children whose biggest fears were monsters under their beds; mine was going number 2.
By Allison Schafer 5 years ago in Confessions
Little Black Rambo
Our early memories are often defined by a quirky combination of vagueness and distinction. We remember the crux of a context, the emotions that were elicited, but seldom do we recall every specific detail — perhaps because the feelings and the gist is just enough!
By Oscar Richard5 years ago in Confessions
